Butterfly
by Sithstrukk
Summary: Tigerkit catches his first "prey." Others are proud, but why does he feel awful?


Tigerkit lay on the damp ground, sweeping his tail across the fine dirt restlessly. His eyes flitted around the camp, coming to rest on a group of apprentice's cleaning each other's pelts and chattering. He felt a stab of envy as he thought of them; spending their days hunting and training. He stretched his jaws in a sudden yawn just as his mother, Leopardfoot, poked his head out of the nursery. "You've been out there a while, Tigerkit. Ready to come in?"

"No," said Tigerkit quickly, sitting up straight and widening his eyes.

His mother surveyed him up and down, concerned for his welfare. He was still a young kit and didn't stray outside for long periods of time. "Just a little longer. Stay close."

"I will," promised Tigerkit as something yellow fluttered in the corner of his amber eyes. He focused on it, tracked it, as he watched it fly in an erratic dance around the nursery. He whipped his head back to his mother, but she had vanished inside the den.

He turned back to the yellow flutter- only to realize it wasn't there anymore.

Then it was there again, this time farther away from the nursery. Tigerkit took a step forward, stretching his head forward, and each step bringing him closer and closer to brushing noses with the flutter. It flew overhead, like it was beckoning to him. The kit reached out a clumsy paw, batting at it, trying to catch it. It swooped low, then rose again, speeding away on a wave of air.

Tigerkit barreled after it at a fumbling run, tripping over his paws. He jumped in the air, entranced by the way it darted from his paws.

It flew back to the nursery and he ran along, following its path. It settled on a twig, part of the nursery wall.

He gave a squeak of glee and bounced in the air, finally batting it with a dark paw. His claws were unsheathed, and to his astonishment they slid through a thin wing. He dropped to all four paws, and the creature dropped to the ground.

Tigerkit approached it, sniffed it, and withdrew; unsure what to think.

"There you are!" His mother appeared from the nursery entrance. "What do you have there? A butterfly?"

"A butterfly," Tigerkit repeated. "Why won't it fly?"

His mother looked at him curiously, anxiously, but spoke the truth. "It's dead. You struck it down."

The words sank in. "I killed it?"

"Yes," his mother said. "It won't fly anymore."

"Oh."

"Come in now, you'll have time to play later."

Tigerkit was ushered inside the nursery. His paws were heavy and his eyelids drooped. He cast a look back at the butterfly; perfectly yellow wings on ugly brown mud. It had been so fun playing with it, just like a friend was fun to play with. Then it was gone. Tigerkit had taken care of that. He felt bad, even guilty, about it. It felt awful. He couldn't believe he had accidentally hurt it… and he had hurt it terribly.

_ooooo_

He sat outside again. His friends were out but he didn't want to play. He didn't even want to watch them play.

The butterfly was gone; swept off into the shadows.

"Tigerkit!" It was an apprentice prancing towards him. One of the nice she-cats. "I saw you catch that butterfly. Nice going! You have skills!"

"Thanks," mumbled Tigerkit.

"What's wrong?" She frowned.

"It's dead," Tigerkit said, guilty of forgetting her name. At the moment he could barely think of anything. It may be exhaustion, it may have been that rich bite of fresh kill… it could be his feelings engulfing his mind.

The apprentice saw his grief. "But it's just a butterfly."

"I killed it."

"You're going to have to kill lots of things. You'll have to kill prey to feed the Clan and you'll have to fight off invaders."

Tigerkit realized he wasn't sounding like a warrior. He was sounding like a kit. He wanted to act like a warrior, didn't he? But… was this what it meant?"

"You can tell me what's on your mind, Tigerkit. I'll keep it to myself," the she-cat said softly.

"I don't know anything," he simply said.

"It's easy," she said. "You'll learn that it's not a big deal. Killing's not a big deal." With that the she-cat sprang to her feet at the call from her mentor. With a meow of goodbye she was off.

He still couldn't recall her name. Maybe he was really tired. He was still a kit, after all, and he would have to face that. Kits still had to face big things, like death. Could he cope with that?

"It's not a big deal," he said to himself, his young mind mulling it over. "It's not."


End file.
